


Regroup

by Chrism



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-28 00:13:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrism/pseuds/Chrism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fear was not new, but the reality of it was most clear in the days after the fight. Every time they came home lucky. They came home blessed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regroup

There was a subtle change in the air, after a fight. After the adrenaline slowed, and the exhaustion took its place. The periods of bone-tired, motionless sleep interrupted by a brief startle, almost wakefulness, and they'd shift in the bed towards reassuring warmth. Not aware enough to recall the moment, they were once again pulled under into dreamless darkness.  


The next day the bruises darkened. Stitches and bandages caught on clothing and maddeningly itched or throbbed with pain. Breathing was quick and quiet, bruised ribs wrapped tightly or ignored entirely until a movement or a laugh stabbed a reminder. Tony was quiet and thoughtful while Steve became caught up for long moments staring out at the skyline. There was little conversation outside of necessity.  


They found themselves in the same rooms, without intent or thought, following one another for days. In the fuzz after adrenaline they took time merely existing in proximity to one another. Tony came across Steve reading in a nook of their bedroom; he brushed a hand along the back of his neck, shoulder to shoulder, on his way to the desk. He pulled a tablet from the drawer and quietly continued working on a project. Steve didn't look up, but the tense line of his shoulders eased down into a relaxed bow.  


When he couldn't sleep, Tony spent the late hours in his workshop tweaking and repairing the armor, the jet, whatever needed doing. Steve dozed on a couch, too tired for the sounds of the shop to keep him from sleep. Blinking sweat and exhaustion from his eyes, Tony swore when his hand slipped and he pushed the tip of a soldering iron deep into a delicate component. Steve woke with a start but stayed still, listening as he dozed. In moments Tony was off on a ten minute rant under his breath on everything from the processing speed of his current diagnostic setup to the limitations of human biology regarding energy efficiency. Steve rose as he ran low on words, seeing his frustration ebb steadily, and silently pulled Tony along to bed.  


Steve woke alone sometimes, with a start, and wandered out to find Tony in the predawn kitchen awaiting the day's coffee. Muzzy and half-asleep, he shuffled in to stand behind Tony and wrapped his arms around his waist. He stood there for long moments with his face buried in the soft skin of Tony's neck, breathing slow and deep. When the coffee finished brewing, Steve sat at the small kitchen table. Tony made them each a cup and sat across from him, settled a knee against Steve's thigh while they sipped themselves awake in the silence of the sleeping tower.  


Re-hashing the fight was hard, sometimes. They analyzed strategy and tweaked their tactics. How to fight alongside their greatest strength was a well-known quantity. Years of practice gave them a deep awareness of how to move together with brutal yet artful efficiency. Their words were calm, but unvoiced tension wound through the silences between. They broke down the missed shots, the hits they had taken, the steps they faltered. The unspoken problem: how to fight along-side this gaping vulnerability in his armor; the one thing he can't cover with the shield. When they finish they're drained, sprawled across the couch with Steve's head resting in Tony's lap, his fingers tangling absently through blonde hair.  


The fear was not new, but the reality of it was most clear in the days after the fight. Every time they came home lucky. They came home blessed. The fear boiled but it faded, fizzled, into a muted, sober gratitude. They sat a bit closer, and they walked with shoulders brushing. Stood a little nearer at the obligatory press conference, subtle hand on the lower back in silent support. Room to room, dreaming to waking, still there? Yes. Still there?  


At night the distance of the daylight hours caught up. The world spins away, shrinking down to their room, their bed. Forehead to forehead, sharing breath, palm pressed to cheek, fingers tracing spine. They share warmth beneath the covers, kissing slow and indulgent, deep and dizzying. Murmurs trail off in the dark, eyes drifting and vision blurred. They share sleep for one more night.


End file.
